“I sure as hell hope not.”
Charlotte snaps her head to look at me and softens her eyes. “I understand that you’re angry, but your grandmother won’t approve of that language. Not in this house.”
I bite my tongue before I spit back a retort that Charlotte doesn’t deserve. She’s right. I’m angry. I’m saying things I shouldn’t. But how can anyone expect that any of this is normal?
With another shake of my head, I sigh. “I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Maybe we can start over in the morning.”
The smile that spreads across her face warms my insides despite current events. “I’d like that very much, Kat.” She pats my knee above the comforter, then she stands and hands me a teacup filled with steaming liquid. When did that get here?
“It’s my special concoction. I promise this will help you get a good night’s sleep. I meant to give it to you earlier.”
I don’t spend any more time questioning how or when the tea arrived at my bedside. I take a few slow sips and thank Charlotte as she’s closing the door to my room. Then I lay my head back on my pillow and easily fall asleep.
The moment I begin my descent of the grand staircase, my mouth tingles at the aroma of bacon and eggs. I’m still groggy from the long trip and lack of sleep, but thankfully, no other dreams haunted me during the night. I follow the scent past the white great room, through a brilliant mahogany arch, and into a lavish dining room decorated in a sea of electric blue—from the plates on the wall to the table coverings and oversized candles on them. I’m mesmerized by it all.
Charlotte greets me at the dining room entrance with a smile. “Good morning, Kat. You look well rested. Your grandmother had to run a quick errand this morning, so I thought I’d give you a tour while we wait.”
“Okay, sure.”
I don’t tell Charlotte how angry my stomach is with hunger. Instead, I let her lead me all over the much-too-large house, trying to not let my jaw drop over every exquisite detail. The main floor is daunting in itself, with what Charlotte told me was a thirty-foot-high coffered ceiling, supported by cast Italian stone columns. They extend all the way to the upper-floor gallery, where the great room overlooks a breathtaking view of the bay and the endless sea beyond it.
Charlotte takes me past the foyer and grand staircase into another section of the house, skipping a narrow hallway. “What’s down there?”
“Oh, that’s Rose—er, your grandmother’s quarters. Rose prefers to not take the stairs, so if you ever need her, this is where you’ll find her—in her bedroom, her study, or the library. They’re all down there.”
“Library?” My curiosity is immediately piqued.
Charlotte lights up, her eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Oh, yes. And it’s by far the most charming room in the entire house. I’ll leave that up to your grandmother to show you herself, but I’ll let her know you’re eager to see it. Come with me.”
She continues the tour, showing me the many guest bedrooms, her arts-and-crafts room, and a giant darkroom with theater seating and a projection screen on one wall.
Then she turns to me and claps her hands. “That’s pretty much it for the tour. You’ve seen the pool and the beach. This is your home now, Kat. We’d very much like for you to feel comfortable here, so if there’s anything you need, please let me know.”
Staring back at the woman, I wonder for the hundredth time in the past week who exactly she is to my grandmother. What is a “caretaker,” and what are her responsibilities to Summer Estate—and now to me?
We’re on our way back downstairs when I can’t help but ask, “Why such a large home? This place is gorgeous and all, but I can’t imagine one person needing”—I sweep my arms around me—“all of this.”
“Rose and your grandfather lived in Apollo Beach most of their lives. Their parents were the best of friends and all traveled from Greece to build the School of Gaia, a private college here. After she married your grandfather, they took what their parents built and expanded the community, which Rose now oversees. She has her hands in many areas—politics, real estate, education, and the environment. I suppose that all comes with a certain status that’s critical for her to uphold.” Charlotte is clearly being cautious as she answers.
“You make it sound like Rose owns this town.”
Charlotte shrugs. “Some say she does. Overall, your grandmother is a very well respected woman here.”
“Overall?”
Charlotte smiles. “Well, let’s just say there are a number of folks in this town who don’t love the idea of a woman running things. After George passed, it seems she’s never stopped having to prove herself.”
“Really? Why?”
Charlotte shrugs. “I’ll never understand it, but ever since the fire, Rose has had to deal with insurmountable pressure from the community. And it’s never let up.”
“Wait. What fire?”
Charlotte’s eyes flit away from mine, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Your mom never told you about the fire? Rose and your grandfather had a section of the house remodeled because of it.”
I shake my head, and discomfort churns in my stomach. Why is it starting to feel like my mom kept so many secrets from me? “Not a word. Like I told you, she didn’t tell me much.”
Charlotte sighs. “Right. I guess she wouldn’t have had a reason to share that. I shouldn’t have assumed you knew. Forget I said anything. Rose will surely tell you all about it in good time.”
My jaw drops. “You can’t do that, Charlotte. I want to know about the fire. What happened? When?”
Charlotte frowns, the deep creases between her eyes showing her worry. “I really should let Rose tell you, Kat. It’s her story, not mine. I’m sorry I mentio—”
“Oh my gosh, Charlotte. Just tell me what you know,” I beg. “Unless you want me to start digging around on the internet and believe everything I read.”
Charlotte’s eyes flash with worry before she lets out a heavy sigh and casts a long, stern look at me. “All right, all right.” Her voice is hushed and her eyes narrowed as if Rose might overhear her from wherever she is. “A little over ten years ago, there was an awful fire in the estate. No one knows how it started, but your grandfather was in the library when it all began. He was trapped for so long that everyone began to believe he was dead. Rose finally got to him and pulled him out. He was alive, but his condition worsened over time, and respiratory issues killed him a year later. Rose didn’t want to leave the place she and your grandfather had built, so she sought help to care for Summer Manor. That’s how I came into the picture.”
My heart aches from such a tragic story of my poor grandfather. I wish I could have met him. Maybe my mom didn’t know about the fire. Surely, she would have wanted to visit after hearing something like that. Even as my questions and thoughts compile, I realize I’m trying to make sense out of something I haven’t even begun to understand. From how my mom had made it sound, George Summer loved her like a father, and in return, she cared for him deeply.
Charlotte must have said all that she’s willing to say, because she leads me past the great room, and through an archway that leads to a formal dining room. Through the next set of wide-open doors, I spot a gourmet kitchen with beautifully ornate cabinets and sparkling countertops. It’s clear there isn’t a spot in this house that isn’t meticulously looked after.